Moving On
by arianagleek
Summary: "Mary had been reminded - in the worst way possible - that anything could happen in this wretched game called life." A collection of oneshots, each focused around a different character and how they attempt to move on after Sybil's death, including Mary, Tom, Cora, Thomas, Matthew and Robert. SPOILER WARNING FOR SERIES 3.
1. Mary

**A/N:**_** I wrote this last night as a kind of therapy for the thoughts that had been going through my head all day. I aim to write a oneshot a day, each focused around a certain character, about how everyone is coping after Sybil's death - a horrible, sudden plot twist that I WILL murder JF for. There should be at least five oneshots, hopefully including Mary, Edith, Cora, Robert, Tom and Carson. Please read and review - feedback is appreciated!**_

**Update 16/02/13**_ **- I would like to thank my amazing Beta, cirquedumockingjay, for helping me to improve this chapter and make it into what you see before you now, as compared to the written-and-posted-in-an-hour chapter that it was before! :)**_

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**Moving On**

**Chapter 1 - Mary**

Mary closed the drawing room door behind her with a soft click, only catching a final few snippets of the conversation inside. She could understand why Matthew did it- he was only taking advantage of the chance to talk to Murray in person – but that didn't make it any more right. To go behind her father's back, especially while he was bedridden with grief, was wrong - but she could forgive him. It was a matter of trivial importance when one looked at the bigger picture.

If the past day had taught Mary anything, it was that loved ones could not be taken for granted. Not Matthew, not Edith, not anyone. Just because they may disagree on some points, that did not make their love any less real or any less precious. Mary had been reminded - in the worst way possible - that anything could happen in this wretched game called life, and not a single moment with Matthew was worth wasting. She needed him more than ever right now: she needed his love, his embrace, the soft brush of his lips against hers. As soon as Murray was gone, Matthew would be hers, and she would not waste a second of that time lest he suddenly be taken from her -or her from him.

Mary did not know what it was - whether it was the English stiff upper lip, shock, or subconscious denial - but she hadn't truly cried yet. Her throat had constricted many times, and it was true that maybe, once or twice, a tear or two had leaked from her eyes, but she hadn't truly _cried. _Not the kind of crying where one cried one's heart out and truly let the pain go. Not yet. She was sure it would come, but for now, she was in a state of ignorance - her mind not having quite accepted the truth.

Sybil was dead.

She was jerked back to reality by the sudden, horrific sight that met her outside of the drawing room. Two men, clothed all in black, marched slowly down the stairs. Between them they bore a stretcher upon which a oddly shaped - yet all too familiar - object lay, hidden by a white sheet.

Sybil's body.

Following a few metres behind, her hand clamped over her mouth in an expression of pure horror, was Edith. Mary was choked by a sob as she ran over; knowing that what they both needed now was each other.

Mary and Edith embraced, each holding on to the other for dear life, sobbing heavily into each other's shoulders.

"Oh, Edith, I didn't mean it -what I said earlier," sobbed Mary. "We must get along better now, Edith, and we shall. For both Sybil's sake and our own."

"I do love you, Mary," Edith whispered.

"I'm so sorry. For everything." Mary, still buried in the folds of Edith's dress, choked out. Life was too short not to love, and Edith and herself had already wasted far too much time.

"I'm sorry, too."

"Why her?" Mary burst out, her voice cracking with every word she spoke. "Sybil was the only one of us who never did a horrid thing in her life…"

"...and yet we are the ones left here," finished Edith, bitterly.

The two sisters let go of each other for just long enough to turn and face the door before they each took the other's hand, clasping it tightly. They took a bare moment to steel themselves before walking to the door - holding themselves straight and tall, the very embodiment of English restraint. As they stood outside the door, in the faint morning light, they watched as Sybil's body was loaded into the undertaker's motor.

"Goodbye, my dearest," whispered Mary softly, as the motor trundled off down the long gravel drive and out of sight.

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Mary found Matthew a few minutes later, still in the drawing room, sitting on a sofa with his head buried in his hands. Mary padded inaudibly across the worn rug and placed herself gracefully beside him.

"Matthew, never let us argue again," she whispered softly in his ear. "Let us do nothing but love, 'til death do us part - for it may be sooner than we think."

"Oh, Mary, I love you so much," Matthew replied softly, before taking her head in his hands and kissing her passionately on the lips. That was when Mary cried, properly, in the presence of one love but the absence of another - another who would always now be gone, until the next life, at least.


	2. Tom

**A/N: _Here is the second chapter. I'm not going to lie, this was hard to write, and I'm not sure what I think of it, but please read and tell me what you think. Also, any ideas/preferences for which character I should do next would be appreciated. I hope you enjoy, if sobbing mercilessly can be called enjoyable._**

**Update 21/02/13 - _I would like to thank my amazing Beta, cirquedumockingjay, for helping me to improve this chapter. However, although I have changed quite a few things, I'm still not sure that I'm entirely happy with it - especially the dialogue at the start. It's there because I wanted this chapter to run on from the episode, and I'm not convinced that it entirely works, but you'll just have to bear with it. I hope the rest of the chapter - and, indeed, the whole story - makes up for it! :)_**

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**C****hapter 2 - Tom**

"Please, don't leave me!" Tom gasped. "Help her, help her - please! No, no, please, just breathe, come on - come on, Sybil! It's me, my darling, all you need to do is breathe! What's happening?" he cried, turning to face everyone, beyond distraught. It was their fault, it had to be, this couldn't be happening...

"Please…please breathe, love," he sobbed -each breath thicker in his throat than the previous one.

"Please... please. No. No!" She couldn't be leaving him, not now, not when they were so happy.

"Please... please, love! Please, wake up. Please, don't leave me. Don't leave me! Please, wake up, love." His words were useless, he knew that now, pointless pleas for help that would never be answered.

"Please - don't leave me, please don't leave me!" he cried, hysterical with pain.

"Please, love…" he sobbed, pain overtaking him, leaving him there with just her cold, pale hand, his lifeline slowly slipping away. _No, not going. Gone. Sybil is gone._

Tom collapsed next to the bed, shaking violently with silent tears of pain and grief, hardly able to comprehend what was happening. _No, she can't die, not now, not when we've only had only a few years together. _The only thing that kept him from denying it was her body, right in front of him, cold and grey and _stiff_. She was gone, and so was a part of him. He had nothing, _nothing_, left to live for - not without Sybil.

A cry from down the hallway jolted him from his grief, reminding him that he was wrong. Although it may seem inadequate, a poor exchange, here was something that would make his life worth living. His daughter, no, their daughter. She was there - she needed him, and he needed her. He had to be strong for her sake. So he could do Sybil proud.

He squeezed Sybil's hand, one last time. Kissing her gently on her dry, blue lips, he leaned closer -_I hope you are lying back and looking up at the stars now, my love. "_Goodbye, my darling," he whispered, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and dripping on to the already sweat-soaked bed sheet.

As if fate were calling to him, he heard another cry from the baby's room. He stood up, every movement hurting him, and began to make his way down the corridor, barely containing the cries of anguish that threatened to escape from his lips. Pushing open the nursery door, he saw her there, lying in a crib. She was wrapped in a white blanket - the colour of innocence. _My daughter._

He strode across to her and swept her into his arms, crying into her blanket and hugging her close - a new lifeline catching him just as another was swept away. She looked, already, just like her mother.

"Hello, my darling Sybil," he whispered. "I'm your Daddy, and I love you so very, very much. I need you to know that your Mammy she - she loved you so very, very much too and..." his words caught in his throat. "She always will."

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He went back to see Sybil one last time, to say his proper goodbyes before they took her away.

"I promise to look after her, my love. I've decided to call her Sybil - she looks so much like you, you know. I will do you proud, I promise. I will never forget you, my darling, and things will never be the same." A quiet, anguished sob escaped from Tom's lips. "I'll try... I don't know how, but I'll try." He reached over to take her stiff hand before he leaned in to kiss her lips," I love you, my darling Sybil."

Then, with a last look back at his beautiful wife, he left -leaving not only Sybil behind but a part of him too.

He spent the whole day in the nursery with baby Sybil; talking to her about her Mammy and all the wonderful things they would do when she was older -like lying back and looking at the stars in Dublin, just as he had spent so many nights doing with Sybil. His daughter was the only thing that kept him from going insane and his exile the only thing that kept him at this place for another second. He could not possibly be happy here - there were far too many painful memories, and every sight, every smell, every sound would remind him of her. But he was safe, and baby Sybil was safe…and these people were the closest thing he had left to a family now.

Mary came in, later that day, and stood next to him, looking down at her niece cradled in his arms. "She's beautiful," she whispered softly. "I'm sure you'll be a wonderful father, Tom." Tom looked up at her, trying to find something to say. There was nothing. He was doubtful that even a tragedy like this could unite him with Mary - not after they had spent so long in opposition.

"We'll try and help you, you know that?" Mary appeared awkward talking to Tom in such a personal manner, but - and Tom later thought it was to her credit - she persevered. "I know we didn't get off to the best start, but you need us and we need you."

Tom nodded shakily, trying to stop his watering eyes from letting his pent-up tears escape.

"After all, you are my brother," Mary said softly with a weak smile.

Tom fell into Mary's open arms and cried into her shoulder, Sybil clasped between them. And it was in that moment that he realised he would be okay. Not for a long time, but eventually.

His darling Sybil was gone, but he had another to live for, and, hard as it may be, living was what he intended to do.


	3. Cora

**A/N: I'm not sure how pleased I am with this chapter, but I hope you like it all the same - I am determined to post a oneshot a day until I have written about all the characters I want to, and I will NOT give up. Please review and tell me what you think, and also any preferences for characters you would like a focus on next. Thanks, and enjoy reading!**

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Cora swept out of the sitting room, shaking as she strode across to the foot of the staircase. She was unsure whether it was grief, anger or exhaustion that made her feel like this, but her head pounded and it felt as though there was a bubbling volcano inside her chest, threatening to erupt at any moment. She made her way gracefully up the stairs, still with all the elegance and composure of a lady despite the fact that she felt the complete opposite of composed inside.

She didn't want to be mad at Robert - she wanted, more than anything, to have him hold her close and kiss her, and tell her it was okay - but grief and anger fogged her mind and she was unable to see past them, to a time when she would be able to forgive him. It was no secret, especially not now, that Sybil had been Cora's favourite daughter. She knew that mothers weren't supposed to have favourites, but Mary had always been a little too difficult and selfish, while Edith was always the plain, middle child, and Sybil had that extra drive, and creativity, and longing to be different. Cora had always tried to hide her favouritism, but, really, what did it matter now? Sybil was gone and Mary and Edith were old enough that they had guessed the truth by now regardless.

When she reached the landing, Cora did not turn right, towards her room - she had no intention to write to Dr Clarkson now, she had just needed an excuse to leave - and instead turned left, towards the nursery. She needed to talk to somebody, but she knew that there was only one person who would understand. He was the only other person who had loved Sybil quite as much as she had, and Cora knew for certain where she would find him.

Cora hesitated at the door, unsure whether Tom would want her presence at the moment. _No, _she thought, _he should not be alone. He needs a family; a friend to talk to. _A small gurgle from inside the room finalised her decision and she gently pushed open the ornate wooden door to see Tom, standing at the window with his daughter swathed in blankets and cradled in his arms. He turned to look at her and she managed a small, weak smile, to show him that she meant to cause no unrest.

"Tom," she said, her soft American lilt soothing to Tom's ears. He had not been able to face going downstairs to accept company, but the sound of only his own voice and his daughter's cries had been slowly grating at his sanity all day, the silence in between reminding him that there was one person, the most important person, whose voice would never again be there to fill it.

He turned and took a step closer, silently, tears just visible glistening in his eyes behind the mask of resilience that he wore, for his own sake rather than anyone else's. Cora came closer and peered inside the mass of blankets that cushioned her first grandchild, and the silence between her and Tom was not awkward; rather, it was the beginning of a mutual understanding between them.

"Can I hold her?" Cora asked tentatively, looking up at Tom. She knew that he had been protective of his daughter, and understandably so, only having let the nurse, Mary, Matthew, Edith and himself handle her so far. Tom simply nodded sharply, trying to keep some composure in front of Cora, and then handed her the child with the utmost care and caution.

As soon as Cora had the baby in her arms, the turmoil inside her dissipated slightly, enabling her to see through the fog enough to know that this baby - already the very picture of her mother at that age, Cora realised - was enough to get them all through this, eventually. She could hardly fathom what things might have been like had the baby died too. In her slightly clearer state of mind, Cora suddenly realised what Tom was about to say, and was glad of it.

"I've decided to call her Sybil," he stated simply, "no matter what you, or anyone else, thinks," he continued, his tone of voice defensive.

"Tom," said Cora, looking him straight in the eye, "I completely agree. I'm on your side, and I always will be, because I know that your side will always be the side that is best for darling little Sybil."

Tom's face lit up, for a brief moment, with shocked gratitude. "I appreciate that, ma'am, I really do. You have no idea."

Cora sighed, smiling weakly. "Please, Tom, you are part of the family now. It's Cora." Tom nodded in reply, unspoken love passing between them after the loss of their mutual loved one.

They sat in silence for a little while, Cora playing with Sybil as the baby cooed up at her grandmother. "Sybil and I - we thought of names, but none of them seems right, not now - and she looks so much like her mother," Tom choked, tears beginning to leak from his eyes and down his face.

Cora looked up at him with a newfound love in her eyes, and smiled, hard as it was for the moment.

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Cora's day passed in a blur, and she couldn't remember much else that she had done apart from talk to Tom and write to Dr Clarkson. She couldn't recall talking or eating, or even moving, and hadn't even the faintest idea where she had been. By the time she found herself in bed that evening, she was exhausted, but felt a little more at peace in her own mind and heart, and thought that she might find it possible to get a little sleep tonight.

There was a light rap on the bedroom door, and without waiting for a reply - which Cora knew she would never have given anyway - the door was pushed open, revealing Robert, bags visible under his eyes along with the suddenly more pronounced lines on his forehead.

"Cora, dear, I was wondering if I might come back in here tonight?" he asked cautiously, looking at her as though trying to read her mind.

As much as Cora wanted to be, she wasn't ready. She had passed the denial of Sybil's death but acceptance was still a long way down the line, and she wasn't ready to forgive Robert yet, no matter how much she wanted her husband and his love for her.

"No, I think it might be best if we sleep apart for a little while," she said softly. "There will come a point, Robert, where I will be ready to forgive you and then we can try and get back to life as normal, but I'm not ready yet." She looked pointedly at the door, but not unkindly, and with a final, longing look back at her, Robert left the room.

Cora switched off the bedside light and turned onto her side, pulling the sheets tighter around her. She cried herself to sleep that night, and although there was still a long way to go, she knew that sleep, fitful as it might be, meant that she was getting there._ My baby, I miss you, but I will carry on. I will look after Tom, and baby Sybil, and it will be hard, but I will do it. I will carry on, for you, my baby. You will always be my baby._ Then Cora was engulfed by sleep, dreamless and suffocating, but sleep all the same.

It was only a beginning, but she knew that she had to start somewhere if she had any chance of continuing her life after the death of her darling Sybil.


	4. Thomas

**A/N: Here is the fourth chapter! I have actually managed to stick to doing a oneshot a day - it's a miracle! This chapter is about Thomas, because I feel he really needs attention. I know that most of the other chapters I've written have had semi-happy endings, but this one doesn't because I think that Thomas is unlikely to get one any time soon. He needs serious help, but I don't think anyone really notices him - homosexuality and depression were two things that people in the 1920s weren't really aware of, which I think is why Thomas has such a bad lot in life. PLEASE REVIEW if you want me to carry on, because at the moment I'm not sure how many people are actually reading so any feedback, no matter how small, would be greatly appreciated. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 4 - Thomas**

Thomas strode out of the servants' hall, shaking violently and feeling as though he was about to throw up, or at the very least he knew that he was about to burst into tears. He desired to do neither of those things in front of anyone else, but he only got as far as the stairwell before he descended into hopeless, pained sobs that racked his whole body.

He knew it was stupid to be this upset: he had hardly known Lady Sybil at all really, but in the short time that they had worked together during the war - as equals - he had grown to cherish her company. She had been such a good, kind, innocent person, but, like the other friend he had met during the war, she was now gone, leaving him as the guilty one who had to remain. Why was it, he thought, that every good person who ever came into his life was taken away from him? First Edward, and so soon as well, and now Sybil - both of them more deserving of long, full lives than Thomas himself would ever be.

Thomas felt dizzy and, finding that the nausea was not seeming to pass, he groped for the wall at the bottom of the staircase and clung onto it for dear life. _No, Thomas, don't be ridiculous, _he told himself. _ She would never have been this upset if it was you who died. You deserve to die but she didn't. _But, as Anna reminded him later, he knew that that wasn't true. Sybil had never, not even once in her life, thought badly of any person and Thomas knew that, no matter how little he would have been missed if _he _had died, Sybil would have mourned him. Knowing that comforted Thomas a little, and for a moment the unreasonable guilt subsided, but then it returned - stronger than ever, for Lady Sybil's kindness made it even less fair that she had died, and at such a young age too. She would have had a whole lifetime of marriage, motherhood, work and campaigning ahead of her. She could have made such a difference to society, and Thomas, selfish as he knew it was, mourned that too. Her determination for freedom would not only have brought them all closer to a world where women were equal, but also closer to a world where people like Thomas could be accepted. That was one of her traits he admired most, aside from her kindness - her determination and drive, for Thomas knew it was a trait that he himself was desperately lacking. He was reminded with a horrible certainty of the pointlessness of his life, and the insignificance that he had compared to people like Sybil.

The war had not been good to Thomas - even less so to him than to many others. He had, stupidly he now realised, seen it as a way to escape the boredom and insignificance of being a servant; but in the end it left him traumatised, ashamed and broke, no better off than he had been before. There had only been two good things that came out of the war: meeting Edward, which had been a joy that turned into grief all too soon; and being able to work with Sybil, who had been so kind and treated him, for the first time in his life, like a person and not a lowly, humble creature. Now she was gone too.

The sobs overtook Thomas' body, and he had almost forgotten that he was standing in the middle of the hallway when he heard Anna's voice from behind.

"Thomas?" she asked tentatively.

All he could do for a moment was continue to sob, before taking a few deep, unsteady breaths and trying to pull himself together. "I don't know why I'm crying, really," he said, turning to face Anna before turning back to face the empty passageway. "She wouldn't be like this if I died."

Anna's brow creased in sympathy, one thing she had never thought she would feel for Thomas. "you don't mean that," she told him, firmly but not unkindly.

Thomas squeezed his eyes together and shook his head, trying to contain the grief and guilt that he knew he shouldn't be feeling. "No," he sobbed. "No, I don't."

He sniffed and continued. "In my life, I can tell you, not many have been kind to me. She was one of the few." He turned back to the hallway to hopelessly attempt to contain another sob. Anna silently came and stroked his shoulder, knowing that there were no words that needed to be said right then.

He shifted from her touch as soon as he saw Mrs Hughes, trying and failing to compose himself. "Oh, don't mind me," she said, her voice full of sorrow. "The sweetest spirit under this roof is gone, and I'm weeping me'self," she said, before pressing her lips together and continuing down the corridor.

Thomas stood, shell-shocked, with no more tears left to cry, and strode off upstairs, without another word or a backwards glance. he would have liked some epiphany to happen to him then; some realisation that he could make a change to the world like Lady Sybil would have done, but it never came. He was just left to continue with his life as though nothing had happened, ignoring the depression and the hopelessness that he knew he would always feel. He knew that nobody would notice his unhappiness, and even if they did, there was even less chance of anyone caring. _For after all, _he thought bitterly as he dressed the next morning, _what does a malicious, insignificant servant boy matter anyway?_


	5. Matthew

**A/N: Here is chapter five! This chapter is somehow angsty and fluffy at the same time. It's a bit less focused on Sybil, and more on Mary/Matthew, but it's still about how Sybil changed them, and I hope you like it all the same. There will be at lease one more chapter in this series, but if you want me to, I will happily write more! Please, please review - I need to know if anyone is still reading and if you like it, as well as preferences for the next character I write about. Read and enjoy!**

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**Chapter 5 - Matthew**

_"That's not possible! Not nowadays!"_

Those words, spoken from his very lips only a few hours ago, echoed around Matthew's mind along with the horrifying images of watching such a young, kind, beautiful and seemingly healthy young woman take her last breaths. Suddenly, as well as having to deal with the grief of losing Sybil, he was having to face the realisation that dying in childbirth was _not _a thing of the past, and that kept him awake as much as the grief did, as he lay in bed at some point in the early morning. He lay completely still, trying to hide from Mary the fact that he was awake, which he knew was ridiculous. She was his wife, after all, and he didn't need to keep up appearances in front of her. He told himself that it was better she believed he was asleep, for at least that way, she would have no cause to worry about him on top of everything else.

If Matthew was being perfectly honest, which he wouldn't be - not about this, anyway - the grief that he felt after Sybil's death was not that great, not compared to the sadness he felt at seeing Mary so sad or the worry that had come with the sudden, horrific reminder of the dangers of childbirth. Sybil had been a lovely, kind young woman, but he had hardly been that close to her, other than a strange but nice sense of comradeship before she had left Downton. She was one of the things that reminded him most of the war, and although he knew that it wasn't her fault - on the contrary, he was exceedingly grateful for all that she had done for him during the war - every time he saw her, he was reminded of that horrible period where he had thought that his future was gone; when he had thought that he would be crippled and childless and alone for the rest of his life. Those were horrible, dark days for him, and even now, two years later, he still could not shake the association that Sybil had with that.

The truth was, it was worry that prevented him from sleeping, not grief. Worry that overtook his anxiety to start a family and his concerns about his fertility, making all of that suddenly seem naive and ignorant. _Why had it never occurred to him that women could die in childbirth? Had he been so obsessed with the idea of having children that he had forgotten about the potential dangers it would cause for Mary? Had he even considered his wife's wellbeing while longing for a family? _ It was questions like these that circled around Matthew's head, keeping him from sleeping and keeping the grief away, too. He was certain, now that he considered it, that he would much rather be childless but still have Mary than have as many children as he fancied but without Mary there to help raise them.

A suffocating wave of sympathy and pity for Tom swept over him. He found himself wondering how Tom would ever be able to love the child, knowing that it had been the cause of Sybil's death. If that had been Mary who died in the same situation, would Matthew ever be able to face fatherhood? Would he be able to look at the child without constant anger and grief?

Could he ever consider having children now that he had seen, first-hand, how devastating parenthood could be?

He was being unreasonable, he knew, but it was hard not to be paranoid. He knew that the chances of the same thing happening to Mary were infinitesimally small, and that even if it did, he would listen to Dr Clarkson this time. Matthew knew that he had to be the strong one, for if Mary knew that _he _was scared, how scared would she be herself, when it was her body and her life at risk? Matthew resolved not to ever let her know how scared he was, because he couldn't bear to think of putting her in that much pain and terror. He had to be the one who kept them going, the one who made them see reason; otherwise they would never get anywhere in their lives.

When Matthew heard a sob from the other side of the bed, he knew what he needed to do. He rolled over and put his arms around Mary's quivering body, nestling his face into her neck before removing it so he could speak, in a soft, low whisper. "Please, darling, tell me what's wrong."

Mary turned to face him, her pale, striking features streaked with salty tears. She looked him in the eye and, after a long moment of silent exchanges between them, replied."I'm scared, Matthew, and I miss Sybil so much. What if that happens to me? I don't want to die, not for many years - and I don't want you to have to live without me," she choked.

Matthew leant in and kissed her, gently and caringly on the lips for a second before pulling away. "We can't let fear of possible misfortune stop us doing things which will make us happy, my darling. If we did, we would be wasting life, and I'm sure Sybil wouldn't want that for either of us. She would want us to live, and to have children, and to be happy, Mary."

Mary nodded, knowing that he spoke the truth even if the truth scared her. She knew that he was right.

"Soon, Mary, we will be ready to think of having children again. Maybe not straight away, but soon. And just think, my darling, of how much joy everyone will feel if they hear that you are with child." There was a comfortable silence between them for a minute as they stared, lovingly, but more importantly, understandingly, into each other's eyes. "We must move on, my darling. Sybil would not want us to mourn her and stop living our own lives."

"On the contrary," Mary finished for him, to his surprise, managing a small, weak, but genuine smile. "Matthew, I'm ready now. Let's do it, now, and not let grief or fear hold us back. Let us be brave, and live our lives to the full."

Matthew's eyes widened, but returned her smile, his genuine too. "Is that what you want?" he asked, needing to make sure.

"Yes," she replied with conviction, before leaning in to kiss him passionately.

Matthew knew, then, that love was the only thing that would let them move on from Sybil's death, and he loved Mary in the early hours of that morning with no regrets. As the first faint beams of sunlight began to creep their way around the curtains, Matthew could have sworn that he saw Sybil standing by the window, looking down at the two of them with a smile on her face.

"Mary, I love you, and I won't let anything hurt you."

"I love you too. I'm not scared any more Matthew - Sybil wouldn't have wanted me to be scared."

When Matthew looked back at the silhouette of the window, there was nobody there, but instead, there was a new feeling of purpose in his heart. _Thank you, Sybil, _he whispered silently to the empty room.


	6. Robert

**A/N: This is another chapter with no happy ending. From what we saw in the episode and the 'next time' clip, I think that Robert is stubbornly digging himself a hole and pushing others away from him unnecessarily, and I hope this chapter shows that. I think there will only be one more chapter after this, as the next episode (aah!) is tomorrow! Please read and review!**

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**Chapter 6 - Robert**

Robert's dreams were similar to Matthew's that night - one phrase echoing around his head - but instead of worry, it was guilt that kept him awake, and instead of having someone there to comfort, he lay in bed alone.

_"But this can't be. She's twenty-four years old..."_

The huge volume of guilt that Robert felt in his stomach was matched only by the grief that overtook his brain and his senses, numbing everything until he was left just lying, unable to comprehend doing anything.

He hadn't just lost Sybil. He had lost everyone else, too, everyone he had ever loved or cared about. _No, not lost them. Pushed them away._ He knew that they had a right to leave him on the outside, however, and that made his loneliness even worse.

_"...If we'd listened to him, Sybil might still be alive, but Sir Philip and your father knew better and now she's dead."_

Had he really thought he knew better? What was it that had made him be so stubborn, when it was his daughter's life at risk? Why had he done it? _Why?_

Robert turned onto his side and began to sob, no longer caring about being a man or being brave, for there was nobody left who cared whether or not he cried or contained his feelings. He hadn't cried, he suddenly realised, for many years, and the tears seemed to bring on a feeling of being a different kind of person - younger, and more carefree, with no responsibilities. How stupidly inappropriate it was that he should feel like that now, when he had the most worries he had ever had in his life and he felt years older than he had felt just a day ago.

He understood why everyone hated him now. He hated himself. He had killed Sybil, it was true, and if he had never interfered, Sybil might still be alive.

He never would understand what had clouded his judgement, that fateful night. He could only imagine that it might have been his determination to side against Tom, or his wariness of Dr Clarkson, or just his perverse need to prove that an upper-class doctor would always know best. Whatever it was, he regretted more than he had ever regretted anything in his life, and probably ever would regret anything in the future. Nothing could be worse that this intense, burning remorse that he felt.

Robert resolved to continue on with life, attempting to blindly ignore the feelings that overwhelmed him in the hope that eventually, he, and everyone else, could forget what he had done and forget his guilt. All throughout the day, he wore a mask of grieved but resigned acceptance of what had happened, trying to kid himself all along that he hadn't played his part - no matter how unthinkingly - in Sybil's death. The only time he didn't act blasé about the guilt was when he spoke to his mother, only letting himself admit as much as "nevertheless, there is truth in it." He knew that Cora was right, and he wanted desperately to break down in front of everyone and make his guilt and remorse plain, but Robert was not a modern man and lived by the code of the British stiff upper lip. Even in times such as these, when etiquette had practically flown out of the window, he refused to admit to the world that he had feelings, and it was this stubbornness that kept forgiveness at arm's length. If only he might admit to the others - and to himself - that he knew what he had done and was inexpressibly remorseful, then they might forgive him sooner and he might be able to forgive himself. As it was, he remained the picture of sorrowful resignation until that night, when he gave the first hint of how alone he felt.

"I thought I might move back in here tonight," Robert stated with only a small hint of questioning in his voice, his brow furrowed as he avoided meeting Cora's eye. He missed her. He missed her so much and he needed her, but he was too proud do admit it.

"I think I'd rather sleep alone for a while," Cora replied, staring blankly ahead of her.

Robert left the room, barely able to contain the hopelessness he felt inside, but not quite hopeless enough that he would resort to being truthful. That was his biggest mistake, and it was that which kept his recovery from Sybil's death - and to a certain extent, everyone else's - so much farther away than it could have been. It was only the first wall he built around himself, with many more still to come.

_Oh Sybil, what have I done?_


	7. Carson

**A/N: This is the last chapter - I'm sorry it's late, I didn't have a chance to upload it yesterday. It sort of acccidentally turned into a Carson/Mrs Hughes fic a little bit, but not too much, because I think Carson is just too clueless about Elsie's feelings to ever see that they are meant for each other. There will be an epilogue, so please tell me any ideas for things I could put in it! I hope for it to be partly based on the various chapters of this story and partly on 3x06. Please read, review and enjoy! :)**

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**Chapter 7 - Carson**

"I knew her all her life, you see," he sighed, his voice devoid of the assuredness it normally held.

Charles Carson looked down at the floor, staring blankly, not wanting to look at Mrs Hughes and give away the grief he was feeling. He could remember clearly the day that Sybil was born - clear memories being something that didn't often happen now that he was getting older. He wasn't sure why he remembered her birth with the most happiness when Mary had always been his favourite, but he recalled now that it was the nature of her birth that had made it such an especially joyful day. Whereas Mary, being Cora's first child, had been a difficult birth, and Edith had surprised them all by arriving a good three weeks before they had expected, Sybil's birth had been easy and brief, the third Crawley daughter out of the womb less than two hours after Cora's waters had broken. He remembered being so proud of them all, almost as though they were his own children - his sense of honour for Robert and his family had run deep, even then.

He had always taken it as a given thing that he would die before the ladies of the house, long before they were anywhere close to death. How foolish he had been to make such assumptions. How naive, with such overestimation of the kindness of life. He ached, now, that it had been him that had died, not Sybil. He would have gladly taken her place, for she was the kindest, sweetest girl - even kinder and sweeter, he had to admit, than Mary - and was the least deserving to die out of every being under this roof.

Charles found himself suddenly feeling very old - he knew that he was now rather old, but before, he had hardly seemed to notice it. Now, his joints ached and movement seemed to hurt him, as well as a new tired, weary feeling in his heart, as though there were now no more secret horrors of life that had been kept from him. Now that he had seen the death of such a young, kind woman, he really had seen everything. Nothing could bring back even the slightest hint of the carelessness and relative innocence of youth. No. Now, he was truly old.

Mrs Hughes took a step closer and placed an unsure hand on his shoulder in a bid to comfort him. Her hand felt alien against his pristine jacket, as though he was something that she could look at and talk to, but not touch. She supposed that, in truth, that was the case - but surely, in times like these, etiquette could be bypassed just a little. He turned to look at her, and looking up at him, Elsie could see just a hint of a tear glistening in his eye. That one tear - one more than he would normally ever allow - reminded her that Charles was human, and had feelings, but just kept them under lock and key, and she felt her heart go out to him even more than it had gone out to Her Ladyship or anyone else upstairs. In his mind, she realised, loyalty and honour were more important than love. By that logic, he had loved Sybil more than most people, and now that Elsie could see how affected he was, his unfaltering loyalty seemed a lot less ridiculous than she usually thought it.

Carson reached out for her hand silently and gave it a squeeze, before letting it drop and exiting the room without another word. _That was his ration of visible emotion used up for one year_, thought Elsie bitterly, wishing that one day he would just wake up and realise that things were changing and he didn't have to go on like this. If he only confided in one person, it would at least be a start. Ideally with that one person being her.

Charles busied himself immediately with preparations for the luncheon, pushing all else from his mind and letting himself become, as usual, lost in his work.

_"Is there anything we should do, Mr Carson?"_

_"Carry on, Daisy, as we all must."_

Hard as it may sometimes be, carrying on was the only way to survive. _If only I was able to carry on without leaving everything else at the sidelines_, he thought bitterly, resigning himself to a life of endless work lest he have to face the pain of emotion ever again. It was better to live emotionless, he believed, than to be a victim of the pain that it brought, regardless of the joys.


End file.
